


6: Wearing each other's clothes

by GraciousK



Series: 30-day OTP Challenge: Johnlock [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Feels, Gen, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, IMMEDIATELY post reichenbach, John believes in Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Missing Scene, Post Reichenbach, Reichenbach Falls, Reichenbach Feels, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 04:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraciousK/pseuds/GraciousK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John can't follow where Sherlock has gone. A short piece, about what happens immediately after he witnesses Sherlock's fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	6: Wearing each other's clothes

**Author's Note:**

> Writing for Day 6 in the [30 Day OTP Challenge](http://ericandy.tumblr.com/post/26596382488/ericandys-30-day-otp-challenge): "Wearing each other's clothes".
> 
> I interpreted "wearing" with some liberties; I hope you don't mind.

When the police asked him questions, John didn't respond. Eventually they stopped asking. He felt disconnected from his body. After a while the flashing of police lights got to be too much for him, so he just... walked away. No one stopped him. At some point the blanket fell from his shoulders, before which John hadn't even noticed it.

The numbness lasted until John reached 221B. He didn't know how long he'd been walking, or what route he'd taken to get here. He just knew that he put one foot in front of the other, and without even meaning to had ended up at their front door. He ascended the stairs to their apartment and stopped at the threshold to the living area. It looked exactly as it had when they'd left. When they'd been arrested. The police came for Sherlock, and John had followed. John had always followed, he would always follow.

 _You can't follow where he's gone now._  John gripped the door frame with his left hand. No, how could Sherlock be gone? All of his things, right where he left them. A half-finished composition on the music stand. His laptop on the desk. His chair, the one where there was enough space for him to pull his knees up to his chin and peer over them like a cat hiding behind a corner. It felt like Sherlock could walk out of his bedroom right now, just step right out into the room as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't...

John raced to Sherlock's bedroom door and flung it open. Dark. He fumbled for the lights. The room was cold and empty.  _Of course not. You saw him, you saw his face, you took his pulse and he was..._

Sherlock's dressing gown was strewn across his bed, one of the sleeves dangling down the side closest to the door. He must've changed in a hurry.  Usually Sherlock's fastidious with his clothes.  _I should hang it up for him, he'd like that._  He realized it was a stupid thought, but it didn't stop his feet from walking him to the bed, or his hands from grasping the material. It was soft. Cold. Hadn't it just been worn this morning? No, not this morning, it was yesterday morning. Yesterday morning, everything was normal, they woke up like normal and Sherlock was complaining about being bored already, not even out of bed, and John went out to get cash to get breakfast but ended up with Mycroft, and then when he got home Lestrade was there...

A streak of flashing red and blue lit up Sherlock's ceiling. Police lights through the window. John's fingertips dug into Sherlock's dressing gown. Lestrade. Fucking Lestrade.

Footsteps on the stairs. The steps paused in the hall, the person pausing at the doorway. John clenched his fists until his arms were shaking.

"John," said Lestrade, his tone cautious.

"Get out."

"I'm sorry, but we're going to need-"

"No." John's entire body was tensed. He turned his head slightly. "This is your fault. He helped you, and you arrested him. You made him look like a criminal."

"I arrested you too, and I should arrest you right now." John turned to face Lestrade, white-hot with rage. Lestrade's hands went up defensively, his eyebrows knit in a concerned expression. "I'm not saying it to be cruel. You assaulted an officer, remember? But we're letting that go. All we need is-"

"I don't care what you need; I don't  _care_!" John shouted, hugging the dressing gown to his chest. "He wasn't a criminal, he was a hero. He helped you, every time you asked he helped you, and now he's..." John choked up. 

Lestrade stood silently, his jaw working as if he was about to speak.  John stared at him, rocking on his heels.  _He better not,_ John thought,  _if he says one word against Sherlock, I'm going to kill him._ The dressing gown smelled like Sherlock, and it was almost too much to bear. John focused on his rage to keep the tears from falling.

Eventually, Lestrade looked away.  Closed his eyes and sighed.  He said flatly, "I'm sorry for your loss." Then Lestrade stepped back into the hallway and closed the door behind him, and John was alone in Sherlock's room, clutching Sherlock's crumpled dressing gown, on the verge of tears.

The reality of the empty room set in.  Sherlock's empty room.  John's knees felt weak. He sat heavily on the edge of Sherlock's empty bed. From the next room, John could hear Lestrade's muffled voice, the shuffling movements of the officers in the flat, boxes being filled. The police were collecting evidence.  Sherlock wouldn't like it one bit, in fact he'd hate it, all those people handling his things. And he definitely wouldn't like John sitting in here useless, sullying his best dressing gown with wrinkles and spattered tears. But it didn't matter anymore, none of it, because Sherlock Holmes was  _dead_.

John pressed his face into the soft fabric and began to sob.


End file.
